The Roaming fly

I am a fly,
Who roams across the sky,
Who flies and die,
And always comes back.
I fly with sorrow.
My food has been borrow.
Wherever I go gets slaps from human.
Wherever I sit I am flown away with a plan.
I roam and roam,
In search of a nice home.
Sitting in garbage over days and night,
Spreads a foul smell and stops my flight.
Darkness appears , I see no  light,
Even if I bent left or right.
For me days are bad,
Nights are sad.

The cold climate,
Is the sorrow of my fate.
It is so sadden that I give zero as its rate.
My life is miserable,
But then also I shall be honorable.
Humans are almost devil,
Slapping me even if they see me in a stable.

I am a wanderer or a tourist,
Why they kill me with their wrist?
I roam across the earth,
Even under the berth.
I am a tourist,
Not a dirt.
Listen to me carefully girls wearing skirt.

By Caesar Borgia